I wrote this with the sole desire to see Killian let go of Milah. Obviously learning about Bae had heavily influenced his decision to turn his ship around, but I really wanted to strictly focus on Hook letting go of his crusade against Gold, and let go of Milah. So, I guess read this like an AU as if Hook hadn't learned that Neal was Bae/etc. yet.

~cosette141


"We're doing this. It might be stupid, it might be crazy, but we're doing this."

Hook opened his fingers, the magic bean still sitting safely in his palm.

And here, standing at the helm of his ship, the sea air shifting black locks of his hair over his forehead, salt and the scents of the ocean all around, he couldn't help but flash back to the last time he's held a magic bean.

He could still feel Milah in his arms.

"I love you."

Something has choked him, something had prevented him from saying it back to her in time. His mind had been racing, trying to find a way to get her heart out of the demon's hand.

But he was too late.

She had died, and his last words to her should have been what hers were to him.

And that mistake had haunted him for centuries.

He could still feel the moment he knew she was gone. Could still feel her weight fall into his arms with a heaviness that was so final, so cold.

He hadn't been able to walk on that side of the ship for years.

And still, whenever he did, he could swear a chill slipped down his spine, as if he was walking through a ghost.

Every single time.

For over two hundred years.

Hook let out a breath, staring at the bean in his hand.

"There's one thing I care more about than my revenge, and it's my life."

Emma Swan and this town might be able to gamble with their lives on a fool's errand, but he was not about to take that bet. He didn't survive two hundred years in Neverland just to die a fiery death in an attempt to save the evil Queen who didn't deserve mercy.

It was the rarest of all rare chances that this bean would have done what they wanted it to. To use it to send the trigger somewhere else, to save their town. There was no guarantee it would work.

That, at least, is what he's been telling himself, the entire way from the strange-looking tavern to the docks.

That, at least, is what he's been forcing himself to believe, every time he imagined the look on Emma Swan's face when she realized what he had done.

She must know by now.

She must.

He was surprised when she didn't check the pouch at the tavern.

She didn't trust him on the Beanstalk.

But today, she had.

He would be remiss if he said that her abandoning him still didn't sting.

He had, on their short journey together, seen something in her that he hadn't seen in anyone in his entire life.

He'd seen himself.

It had been like looking into a bloody mirror.

How someone, from an entirely different realm, could be so much like him, he had no idea.

Her leaving him, tricking him, besting him had worn horribly on his pride. He'd never willingly admit it aloud, but it wore on more than just vanity.

Though it sounded quite petulant to admit it, his bloody feelings had been hurt.

Someone he'd known for such a short while, someone who he'd bonded with, somehow, more than with anyone he's met aside from Milah, had blatantly screwed him over.

She did not, however, leave him to die.

The blasted giant did let him go, unharmed.

Yet, he tried to remind himself, he hadn't exactly shown himself to be a trustworthy ally. He'd traded his trust from Cora to Emma Swan in half a second. It was only fair, aside from carrying a very untrustworthy reputation, that she couldn't trust him. And, quite honestly, Hook couldn't exactly deny that if Cora had offered him more help in getting to and killing the Dark One, that he would have changed allies once again. Besides that fact, Emma was on a desperate mission to return to a child. Trusting a pirate was more than a risk; even he could admit to that.

And the fact that Emma Swan had befriended one of the most fearsome creatures alive, a bloody giant, was yet another curiosity.

She felt familiar, she was quite easy on the eyes and she was intriguing.

"You and I. We understand each other."

And even now, after all that's happened, all the things he's done with her as witness, she still looked at him as if she knew him somehow. She didn't look at him like he was a villain. She looked at him like he was misunderstood, written in a language no one else could translate except her.

She had been right on point with her words to him, earlier.

She understood him.

No one has cared for him since Milah.

But no one in his entire bloody life has understood him like Emma Swan.

And it's that feeling, the one he'd felt when Emma had bested him the first time.

It was a spark of color in a world of black and white.

That feeling that had arisen once again when she'd shown him concern after he'd been injured.

And again, not moments ago, when he truly saw the understanding in her gaze, when he knew she saw past his ruthless demeanor; she saw him.

That feeling that crept up from inside, somewhere deep in his gut, a warmth that spread, touching his chest.

"You can be a part of something, or you can do what you do best, and be alone."

That look in her eyes.

It wasn't just convincing him to give her the bean.

She meant it.

If he accepted, if he joined her, she'd give him the chance she didn't on the beanstalk.

And that feeling in him, the one that's crept up so many times surrounding her presence, it clicked.

And in a rare moment of panic, he immediately made his choice.

That feeling rose again, now, at the thought of her.

The realization that she was to die.

It built and built. Stronger now than ever before. More adamant.

He shoved it down.

Tried to cling onto the numbness he's felt for the past two centuries.

Hook closed his fingers over the bean in his palm, took a breath and made the decision before that bloody feeling could change his mind.

He steered away from shore.

He let the ocean's silence fill the air.

That feeling nagged at him.

Louder.

But he had to do this.

It was a chance that would likely never happen again.

That trigger, or whatever it was, would kill the entire town.

Including Rumplestiltskin.

His Crocodile would be dead.

Finally.

Milah will be avenged.

After all these years, she can finally rest in peace.

He felt himself smile faintly. His eyes fell to the spot of his ship, where she had been taken from him. "You will be avenged, my love. At long last," he whispered.

But something still felt wrong.

The Crocodile was to die, Milah was to be avenged, but…

If he did this…

Emma Swan was to die as well.

That feeling rose up in him again, with so much vigor it stole his breath.

He shut his eyes, trying to rid himself of it.

For Milah.

For Milah.

His eyes opened.

It wouldn't leave him.

He felt sick.

He could still remember the land of New York City, they called it. When he had thought he killed Rumplestiltskin.

He had told the Tamara woman he was satiated.

He had lied.

There was a cold emptiness that had followed.

It was nothing like he had dreamed.

It felt like…

Nothing.

There was no victory.

There was no joy.

There was simply emptiness.

He'd meant the words he'd said to Regina, when she had contemplated avenging her own mother's murder.

"It isn't a beginning. It's an ending."

It didn't bring them back.

Killing Rumplestiltskin wouldn't bring Milah back.

Hook's need for revenge all these years had been his only purpose. His only reason for living.

When he had believed the Crocodile was dead…

He'd never truly thought about what life would be after his mission was complete.

It felt like nothing.

Worse than the numbness that had strangled his chest for the past two hundred years.

Milah was not here to embrace him, to smile, to tell him he made her proud. To tell him she loved him. She was not here, and never will return.

He was simply alone.

In every sense of the word.

He ditched his crew when he allied with Cora.

He'd been chasing his damn Crocodile his entire life, spanning centuries.

To lead to a feeling of cold nothing?

Learning that the Crocodile was not dead, however…

Afrer the initial anger because why wouldn't the bloody imp just die? Hook had felt an overwhelming exhaustion.

He didn't want to keep chasing after the Crocodile.

He didn't want to find a new way to kill him.

And he was not going back to Neverland to buy himself more time to find another way.

He loved Milah, would always love Milah. But he can't go back to Neverland.

Not even for her.

Hook let out a tortured breath.

The shore was far in the distance now.

He opened his palm.

Stared at the bean.

He was so bloody tired.

And right here, in his palm, he could save himself and live the rest of his days with the knowledge that the Crocodile is dead.

But Emma Swan would be as well.

His eyes shut.

He had the luxury, now, to know what killing the Crocodile felt like.

That cold, numb emptiness.

The rest of his days would be just that.

Alone.

Empty.

And the thought of Emma Swan perishing, at his hand and hook

His eyes opened.

They were drawn to the deck, where Milah had died.

He shut his eyes.

He knew what that feeling was, the feeling that rose inside him at every thought of Emma Swan.

It was just a feeling.

It was feelings.

He had feelings for her.

However faint they were.

And the realization came in that tavern, when he had seen the understanding in her eyes that matched her words and it spurred him into running.

Becuase he loved Milah.

Milah.

He had promised to love only her, to avenge her, and cherish her memory for the rest of his life.

It felt like his heart was betraying both him and Milah.

But to feel something for another woman, someone alive

It felt…

It felt like he was alive for the first time in centuries. Like he had died when Milah had, and he felt revived. Emma Swan was apparently some savior and he couldn't deny that. This feeling she gives him…

It felt good.

Which only made his guilt burn hotter, and that sick feeling returned.

His eyes opened, a tortured look in the blue, as he stared at the deck where he lost his first love.

"You can be a part of something."

Hook shut his eyes for a long moment.

"Look out for yourself and you don't get hurt. Right?"

"Worked out quite well for me."

"Until the day that it doesn't."

How did she bloody know him?

The pain in her eyes was the pain he felt in his heart.

She had lost nearly as much, nearly more, than he has.

Hook let out a shuddering breath.

"Until the day that it doesn't."

Why did today feel like that day?

Hook released his crushing grip on the wheel with effort, as if his body was resisting his heart's attempt to change his mind.

But his fingers loosened.

He let go.

He felt himself walk away from the helm.

Hook walked slowly down the stairs, to the forbidden spot on the deck.

He hesitated before it.

He almost never stood here.

He could feel it.

The chill sweeping down his spine.

The feel of her lifeless body in his arms.

Taking a hollow breath, Hook knelt.

Touched the wood gently, seeing her clearly in his mind's eye, in her last moments.

His eyes stung.

"Milah," he whispered. His eyes shut. "Milah, my love," he managed, voice choked. "I—" He swallowed. Two hundred years worth of pain, of aged words carved out of his voice. "I promised I would avenge you. Bloody hell, if I do this, I can." His voice cracked. He took a breath. "Alas…" He lifted his head, looking back toward the shore. "If I keep my vow to you," he whispered, "If I…" His voice caught. "If I do this, I'm not sure I could… live with myself." A tear slipped down his cheek. That sick feeling returned. The guilt. And a horrible loneliness that he's felt for far too long. "Milah," he said brokenly, "I miss you."

The wind buffeted the sails gently, birds cawing above.

But she didn't reply, and neither did her ghost.

Hook drew a breath.

And he made his choice.

"Forgive me for failing you, my love," he said softly, heavily, to the deck, to her ghost, the one he walked through day after day after day. "Please forgive me." Another tear slipped down his cheek.

Suddenly, Emma's face slipped into his mind.

Her smile, after she had defeated the giant, after she found the compass and helped him out of the debris.

That feeling—those feelings—for her touched him once again. They felt warm. Milah's memory always left him feeling so cold.

Hook felt his hand holding the bean shake.

Another tear fell, striking the deck where Milah had gone.

"Please, forgive me," he whispered, he pleaded, another tear striking the wood. "I just… I don't want to be alone any longer," his voice cracked. "I can't."

The air was as silent as her ghost.

He bowed his head, brushing his thumb over the wood, where her hand had fallen in her death so many years ago.

"I will always love you," he whispered.

His eyes shut.

And suddenly, he felt the gust of a warm wind blow through him.

But looking up, none of the sails reacted.

He blinked, staring at the deck.

The chill that had been lingering along his spine had vanished.

A tender warmth touched him instead. Something that distinctly reminded him of Milah's fingers brushing across his skin, a touch he's very nearly forgotten.

He smiled, tears stinging his eyes. He touched the sensation over his cheek, shutting his eyes. "Milah," he said softly, smiling something tender and broken. A tear fell. "Thank you," he whispered, eyes burning, feeling warmth flood him, feeling a relief that would have brought him to his knees if he wasn't already. "Rest, my love," he said softly.

The feeling of her touch lingered for a moment, before it gently faded into the wind.

Hook opened his eyes, feeling like something that had been shattered within him suddenly began to heal.

He smiled.

And he stood.

Newfound vigor, newfound purpose, he rushed to the helm. He spun the wheel sharply, turning the ship around.

"You can be a part of something."

He smiled.

And he intended to do just that.